Jim was lying on the crisp, white hospital sheets that contrasted sharply with the dark bruises running from the edge of his shirt collar to the top of his cheek bone. One leg was cased in plaster and hoisted up with a complicated pulley system that Pam knew she would mess up if she even breathed on it wrong.

Long rubber snakes hung from an IV stand, and they bit Jim on the wrists. A machine next to him was purring in a menacing way, and it beeped every second or two. Another machine was whirring steadily and monitoring something Pam couldn’t even begin to guess.

Pam was split: part of her wanted to rush over there and comfort him, and the other part-- the bigger, scaredy-cat part-- wanted to bolt before he realized she as there. Before she could make up her mind, Jim eye’s opened blearily and option number two was immediately thrown out the window.

“Hey,” Pam whispered, Closing the door softly behind her and carefully folding her arms.

“Hey,” he croaked back. His face broke into a wide, genuine smile, which, oddly enough seemed to make Pam even more nervous.

Pam made an effort to uncross her arms and relax her shoulder. She grabbed a chair made of the same dull blue plastic that was common in the hospital décor, scooted it next to Jim’s bed, and sat herself down in it.

“How are you feeling?” Pam asked, concerned.

“Alright,” Jim said. “A lot better now that you’re here.”

“Cheesy. I think the painkillers they have you on made you a bit loopy,” Pam teased.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you and spending some time together,” Jim said.

The knot in Pam’s stomach twisted with guilt, but instead of saying what she wanted, she said, “Now I know that they’ve drugged you up.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Jim asked.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have a lot of time since everyone else is coming, too. They were going to get on their way after Michael finished looking at those naked ‘High School Musical’ pictures.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Pam was perched awkwardly on the chair in silence for a minute, listening to the beeps and whirs of the equipment around her.

“Well, that won’t be so bad,” Jim said, shrugging.

“I’m not too sure that Andy’s a cappella would be good for your headache,” Pam said.

Jim’s face twisted into a puzzled look. “ How’d you know I have a headache?”

“You just always kind of scrunch your eyebrows together and tighten up your lips whenever your head hurts,” Pam said, making an exaggerated face.

Jim laughed, but to Pam’s disappointment, it wasn’t the hearty laugh that she was used to; he sounded like he didn’t want to breathe in too deeply, like it would hurt if he laughed too loud.

“Impressive, Beesley.”

Pam smiled a bit, but she still was concerned.

“I can call Michael and probably convince him to get Meredith to turn the van around,” Pam offered.

“I’d actually like to have some fun with Dwight while I’m stuck in here.”

Pam saw the gleam in Jim’s eyes that he always had when planning a prank.

“You never told Dwight about the crash, did you?” Jim asked. Pam shook her had ‘no’ in response; she didn’t think she could trust her voice not to give away what she was feeling.

“Then we can tell him… I don’t know. That I got attacked by a bear?”

Pam laughed but started to think. “You don’t have any claw marks, though.”

“Crap. Good point.” Jim bit the corner of his lips. “How about I got attacked by Voldemort?”

Pam contemplated this one. After a bit, she shook her head. “Voldemort was vanquished in book seven, Dwight would never buy it; he keeps going on about how you can’t return from the dead in the wizarding world.”

“There’s got to be something,” Jim said, slumping into his pillows, deep in thought.

“I got it,” Pam said, trying to suppress a smile. “Your telekinetic powers backfired on you.”

“Yes, Pam. Yes!” Jim’s smile lit up his eyes, probably for the first time since his car and body had been damaged when a drunk driver had sailed through a red light two weeks ago. Jim had only wanted to tell Pam, but he had to tell corporate, who felt the need to tell Michael. Jim hadn’t wanted it to be spread around the office, but Michael, of course, had lasted one week before he had caved. To Michael’s credit, he didn’t tell anyone why Jim was in the hospital, mostly because he had forgotten himself; it had been really late when he had received the call from corporate, and the champagne bottle had been lightened considerably that night.

Everyone had insisted on visiting, and Pam had arrived early to give Jim a heads-up, but she wondered if company would do Jim some good. Two weeks alone and injured in the hospital couldn’t have been anywhere near pleasant, and Pam started to feel her eyes water.

“I’m sorry,” Pam whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What are you talking about? This is pure gold!” Jim didn’t notice Pam’s distress.

“No,” Pam said. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit you. That was awful of me. You were hurt and… I needed-- you needed--”

“I understand,” Jim said, taking Pam’s hand into his own. “It’s okay.”

Their eyes locked. Both of them could sense what the other was feeling, and they knew nothing else needed to be said. Jim gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, which could have been considered romantic if there wasn’t a loud crash from down the hall.

Michael’s voice floated into the room. “Dwight! I told you not to touch anything!”

“Sounds like they’re here,” Pam said with a small grin.

“Five bucks says Dwight knocked over an IV stand,” Jim bet.

“I’m going to go with a man with a cane.” Pam looked over at Jim, who was looking skeptical.